Hahaha. I was just going to come here and complain about them vuvuzelas. I absolutely detest the sound they make. Its like a swarm of bees coming all over you. And even the fact that they cannot sting does nothing to make you feel better.

I agree about the comments' worth part, Tom. They make you feel what neither gold nor platinum could ever do. At times, they tuck me in, to a peaceful sleep at nights.

Am happy, they have survived the traders, the goldsmiths, the worth-assessors.

This is a very beautiful poem, and reminds me somewhat of this, by Fleur Adcock:

There are worse things than having behaved foolishly in publicThere are worse things than these miniature betrayalscommitted or endured or suspected; there are worse thingsthan not being able to sleep for thinking about them.It is 5 a.m. All the worse things come stalking inand stand icily about the bed looking worse and worse and worse.